


A Letter to Past Me

by ashleyerwinner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, spoilery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:17:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1620515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashleyerwinner/pseuds/ashleyerwinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean writing to his past-self about his history of kisses with Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Letter to Past Me

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where this came from I just started writing. Enjoy!

The first time is panicked. 

Cas is pinned down by a vamp, his strength fading, and all you see is red.  _Cas, Cas, Cas_  is the only thing running through your mind, and you don’t even realize you’re running to his rescue until you’re fighting off a pack of them, trying in an insane attempt to save him. You’re damn lucky, you don’t realize this now, but all this adrenaline, all on the thought of  _Cas_ , is saving your goddamn life.

You lose count on how many you knock the heads off of, and the vamp pinning Cas down is ravishing his neck, totally unaware of your slaughter. You recall the words he said before taking Cas down — “ _Angel blood is a delicacy_.” — and that’s enough to push you to the next level. 

You’ll swear one day that nothing ever felt as good as yanking that vamp’s head back and slicing it off, but you’re wrong.

Cas has never looked more pathetically vulnerable as he does now, flat on his back, breathing shallowly, blood trickling from the bite marks on his neck. Without pause, you draw your knife and pull Cas to his feet and pat his face until he opens his eyes.

"Dean," he says and a small smile reserved for you pulls at his lips. Before you can even think, you pull him close and plant your lips firmly on that smile. Your panicked heart calms as you feel Cas’ lips respond against yours.

You pull away quickly as you realize what you’ve done (you moron), and purposefully ignore the dazed, soft look on Cas’ face, reasoning away that it’s from the blood-loss. (A hint from future-you; it’s not.)

"We don’t talk about this," you say, stupidly, and Cas’ face goes cold again, and he nods.

You were such an idiot.

-

The second time is drunken.

You’ve been drinking, trying to get Cas on the same level of drunk that you’ve hit, and even though Cas is human now (which is awesome, human Cas can’t fly away), he’s got to have some kind of mojo inside of him, because he’s drank just as much as you have and hasn’t succumbed to the wonders of drunken bliss.

That is, until he stands up, and immediately falls backwards onto you.

"I think I may feel something after all," he says, and hell if that isn’t the cutest thing you’ve ever heard. 

He looks up at you with a shy smile, his cheeks flushed red and his eyes swimming with intoxication. He’s positively  _glowing_ , and now you’re sure that he’s got some mojo left, because there’s no way in hell someone can be this radiant, this beautiful, this angelic —

You lean forward and kiss him, soft and unhurried. Cas’ body relaxes against yours, he sighs against your lips, and you’re sold — this is the best feeling in the world, right here, right now, kissing Castiel, ex-angel of the Lord. (A hint from future-you: Bingo.)

Cas’ hands cup your face, gently, as if he’s unsure this is okay. You trail your hands up the sides of his body, feel the lean, hard muscle of his stomach. Cas’ breathing hitches, and he presses his lips against yours more urgently. Your whole body catches fire (you swear on your life), and you’re pressing against him just as enthusiastically.

"Dean," he moans into your mouth, and you snap back into reality, and push him away. (You chicken-shit.)

Hurt and confusion cross his features, and you give him an apologetic look (you think) as you stumble away.

-

The third time is regretful. 

Cas is dying, his batteries draining, and you have the mark of Cain branded on your arm, and the wrath of a thousand men bubbling inside of you. At this point, everything is making you angry, and everything can be solved with slaughter.

Even looking at Sam’s face brings the same kind of anger as looking at Crowley’s. (One day Sam will explain why he wouldn’t save you the way you chose to save him; why his consent means everything to him after what happened in the pit; you’ll hear the gruesome vague stories of the little he remembers, but it’s enough to make you understand, finally, Sam would save you, but not without your consent.)

But Cas never seems to bear the brunt of your most heinous anger. Of course you get angry with him, he’s lied, built up an army, and you were pretty damn sure he was telling those angels to go kamikaze, but your anger towards him dissipates completely.

He gave up an entire army for the life of one man.

You.

Suddenly, the air is clear. You realize, and as much as the mark strains all of your other relationships, you find it easy to smile and console Cas. Right now, you think he’s the only one who cares about you. (You’re wrong,. Sam cares, and he’s hurting, and nothing will ever make up for the pain you’ve caused him, but this is how you feel  _now.)_

One second you’re having a moment with him, and the next, your brother and Cas are holding you back as Gadreel falls to the floor. Cas’ arms engulf you, placate you, and Sam runs to Gadreel. His eyes are still intact, so you haven’t killed him. Damn.

You let Cas lead you to your bedroom. He’s taken the blade from you (you’ll never recall how he’s able to do that), and he’s cupping your face in his hands, talking to you, although you hear nothing but the ringing in your ears.

"Dean," he says softly, and your eyes snap up to his. Pain and worry are creased into his face, and you feel as if you’ve been cut from your throat to your gut.

"I’m sorry," you croak. You aren’t sorry about slicing up Gadreel, or sorry for the way you’ve been treating Sammy (that will come later), but you are sorry for hurting Cas, whatever you’ve done.

"I’m worried about you," he says softly, stroking your cheek, and your resolve breaks once again. You close the space between the two of you again, holding him hard against you. He doesn’t pull away (you’ll thank him for that even now), he just lets you bruise your mouth against his. It’s all regret, all of this, for waiting, the anger towards him, the not appreciating what he’s always done for you.

Cas loves you.

Cas is  _dying._

You’ll outlive everyone.

But Cas never stops you, only brings you to the bed, presses loving kisses across your face, like you’re worth something. (Cas says now that you were worth something then, and you’re worth something now.)

For the first time in what seems like forever, you get the sweet release of sleep.

-

The fourth time is desperation. 

The last big boss battle, Metatron vs. Dean ft. the Mark of Cain. 

He’s been taunting you, using Cas against you, using Sam against you, trying everything in the book to get you unfocused. 

It’s not working.

Cas is pressed against your side, his presence an anchor from going into the deep end. You’ve told him to go, that it’s not safe, to go back to Sam and Crowley, to leave you be. 

He hasn’t budged. 

Metatron has his own army of angels (and one really fucked up beanie covering his head, but that’s something you’ll make fun of in the future). Cas is backing you up, but you don’t need his help. You’ve got the blade, and you’re killing angels like you’re swatting flies away. 

Metatron’s fearless facade fades away, and you impale him on the blade, just like with Abaddon, and slice, pound, and destroy every last inch of the bastard that’s been fucking things up for everyone for the last year.

After that, you don’t remember much. The blade controls you now that you’ve killed with it tenfold, Cas says he called in Crowley and Sam, that he was afraid, that you weren’t  _Dean_  anymore. You still feel bad for that. Cas should never have to be afraid of you.

Sam tries to break you first. (Crowley leaves, obviously. He would have been next otherwise.) Sam’s reasoning was that he’s been able to break through before. He couldn’t this time.

You don’t remember trying to kill him, but he does. You send him flying across the room, you get ready to plunge the blade into him. (You have nightmares about this scenario, over and over again.) 

That’s where Cas steps in. He pulls you into his arms, tries to talk you out of it. He tells you he needs you, that Sam needs you, says that you’re his family.

He says he loves you.

But it’s not enough. God, it should have just been enough.

You’re stronger than him. His batteries are on 1%.

You’ll never forgive yourself.

As you turn, you plunge the blade into his stomach.

You don’t remember his pathetic “umph”. You don’t remember the horror filling his eyes. 

He uses the last of his strength to lean forward and whisper “Dean,” and press his lips, covered with his own blood, right on yours.

That’s how you snap back. With Cas’ cold, dead, bloody lips on yours, your blade deep inside of his gut.

His blood covering your hands, your lips, your clothes.

You toss the blade aside, shaking, and lay Cas on the ground. You stroke his face, shake his shoulders, and then you crumble.

The fifth, six, seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth kisses are all desperation.

You can’t bring him back.

-

A wise man once told you that your problem is that you don’t have faith.

You lost the little you had when Cas died on your blade.

But Cas should have died with wings, right? He was still technically an angel by default.

He had grace.

You squash those thoughts right in the bud. Cas can’t come back from this.

But he did. 

Four months later, in the bunker, sitting in your room, you hear Sam call for you.

You don’t grab the blade, even though you think something bad is going down.

You run straight for the library, ready to fight.

Cas stands there waiting for you, a hopeful expression on his face, his original trench coat on.

You splash him with holy water while Sam slices his arm with the demon blade.

He’s real.

He’s alive

"God must have a favorite angel," Sam jokes, but his expression is serious.

Neither of you can look away from each other. 

"Are you an angel?" You ask. Cas smiles.

"Is that a flirtation?" He asks back.

The rest of your kisses are all joy.


End file.
